Broken Memories
by where's-waldo-15
Summary: Shawn comes back to Santa Barbara after leaving for 3 months after a fight with Gus and Henry. But he has no idea who he is; no idea who ANYONE is...can he remember what it was he forgot while he was away, or will he end up as just another murder statistic? Oh, right...he doesn't actually KNOW he has a target on his back... R&R!
1. Chapter 1

The man walked slowly along the sidewalk, breathing in the slightly chilly, salty air. It was winter, but it was California. It wasn't cold in the day, maybe only a little chilly. Still, all he had was a long-sleeve T-shirt he'd picked up at a garage sale in Boise a couple of weeks ago. His jeans were a tad too loose, something he'd picked up at the thrift store. They'd fit perfectly when he'd first gotten them, though...

He passed the pier where tourists and natives alike talked on phones, took pictures, and tried to get the seagulls to come closer to them so that they could feed them or take better pictures of them. But he ignored those people, like he had seen them too many times before.

For no particular reason at all, he happened to glance up the hill, and his eyes rested on a small office building. On the window, in large green letters, it said "Psych", and below it, in smaller letters that he could just barely make out from this distance, it said "Private Psychic Detective".

He snorted. Psychic. Please. It was definitely just another charlatan pilfering money from unknowing, helpless victims. He'd met such people in his travelling - they had tried to con him out of the little money he'd made in his not-so-lucrative pickpocketing business, and he had usually responded with a rude hand gesture. Other times, when he was just too tired to care, he ignored them. They tried to tell him of "bad things happening in the future" but he didn't know how it could've gotten much worse than it already was. There were more cons than pros to being homeless and penniless, after all...especially with winter approaching, and the cold had already begun. That was why he'd come to California - being homeless in Utah or Idaho was definitely _not _a good idea when temperatures started dropping below zero.

He kept walking, ignoring the looks he was getting from the people that he walked past. He was used to it by now. Still, it wasn't like they should be so surprised. Repulsed, yes. Surpised, no. He wasn't the _only _homeless guy in Santa Barbara, or nearby, for that matter. Why, just ahead, he could see another older man sleeping on one of the benches with a bag of trinkets - obviously all that he had - in his arms.

The man glanced down at his own bag. The bag was old and worn, something he'd picked up from a thrift store in Utah from the money he'd pickpocketed on the streets of Salt Lake City. Inside it were a few things he'd picked up here and there - a comb, a cup, a refillable water bottle, a spoon, a knife, a toothbrush (but no paste, unfortunately), a broken shard of mirror (which he had once used to try and shave, but it had taken so long and he'd ended up with so many cuts from the edge that he'd just given up on _that _venture altogether), and a pineapple stress toy that he felt a strange attachment to.

He reached into his bag and took out said stress toy, squeezing it a few times as he continued walking. He'd had the thing as long as he could remember, which, when he thought about it...

No. He dropped the toy back into the bag, hitching the strap higher on his shoulder. He did _not _need to think about that right now. He couldn't afford to. Right now he just needed to..._keep walking_.

He walked aimlessly for several hours, even after it got dark, and found himself walking across town. He didn't know where he was going, didn't really care. He just needed to walk. He could never stop walking. If he stopped walking, he would never start again. He had to keep walking. Keep going. Even if he walked laps around the edge of town, that was okay. He was still walking.

But then, as the sky started lightening to signal a new day, he suddenly found himself very tired. He walked just a little further, into the parking lot of...some sort of company. He didn't really care. It looked closed, and there wasn't any car in the parking lot. He sat down on the curb, reasoning that he could stop walking, just for a little bit...

No. He stood up and took a step forward, but then his legs buckled underneath him and he fell back on his rear on the edge of the curb. He was just so exhausted - he had to rest, just for a little bit. Then...then he could keep walking.

For several minutes he sat there, battling inwardly with himself, when finally he lied down on the sidewalk, his face toward the parking lot. It was just so quiet here, with only the streetlamp above him shining down...

In moments, he was asleep.

Gus needed to get to the office early to get some work done, so he'd set his alarm for five o' clock the night before. It was still dark out - the nights were always longer during wintertime - but he knew that only a few people would be at the office at five-thirty, if any.

As he drove to the office, he sighed a little. He hadn't worked on a case with Shawn in over three months - hadn't spoken to him even - because that was about the time Shawn had taken off on his motorcycle. He'd gotten pissed off at the police station when everyone blew him off or didn't take his suggestions on cases seriously, but of course he hadn't said anything to them at the time. Instead, he'd gone to the Psych office, where Gus found him a while later. Not long after that, Henry had shown up as well. Gus didn't really remember how it had escalated into a fight, but he had teamed up with Shawn's dad on that one, and Shawn had felt more than betrayed.

_"Why don't you find yourself a __**real **__job, Shawn, and stop making a fool out of yourself __**and **__me!" Gus had finally snapped._

_Before, Shawn's face had been red, his expression angry, but now, his face cooled down and his expression hardened as he stared at his best friend, eyes glittering with livid anger._

_"Well," Shawn said after a moment. "Thank you, Gus. I think you're right."_

_"You do?" Gus asked nervously, knowing from Shawn's expression that this couldn't be good. Last time he had had that look on his face, in his eyes..._

_"Yes. I do," Shawn said, walking over to the rack by the door. He took his leather jacket off of the hook and began pulling it on as he said, "I'm going to go find myself a __**real **__job. In fact, I read something online about a job offer in Indianapolis that would be a perfect fit for me, I think."_

_"Shawn - " Henry started, but Shawn continued on like he hadn't heard him._

_"Or, you know what? Maybe it was Miami." he zipped up his jacket. "Hell, it could've been Atlanta...or Phoenix!" He grabbed his bike helmet off of the desk and began walking out the door. "Honestly, who really __**gives **__a damn?! Because __**whatever **__I choose, __**wherever **__I go, I'm obviously going to fit in better __**there **__than I do __**here**__." He yanked open the door leading outside, to the parking lot._

_"Shawn!" Both Gus and Henry exclaimed._

_In response, Shawn said without turning toward them, "Fuck you both." _

_Then he walked out and slammed the door behind him. They watched out the window in stunned silence as Shawn got on his bike, revved the engine, and rode off into the distance._

Gus hadn't seen or heard from Shawn since then. He could've been dead for all he knew. And he wished he had stuck by Shawn then...or better yet, not even picked a side altogether. Getting between Shawn and Henry's fights was _never _a good idea, no matter _who _you were.

Of course, he wasn't concerned for his best friend. Frequently before Shawn had gotten into a fight with his dad and taken off, going about the country on his motorcyle, and then he was back in Santa Barbara again like nothing had happened. That was sure to be the case this time.

But still. As much as Gus got annoyed when he was late for his routes or he was pulled out of work because of one of Shawn's hairbrained ideas or crazy cases that only Shawn believed in...he still missed the guy. It was dull and boring without the light that was Shawn's presence around.

At first, officers at the SBPD had asked pretty much every day if he knew when Shawn was going to be back, and sometimes the chief even asked if he could still solve cases alone. But Gus had insisted that he couldn't do it without Shawn, and gradually McNabb stopped asking, Vick stopped pressing, and Juliet stopped coming around the Psych office so often.

Lassiter had been happy and pumped with energy at first, solving cases left and right, but as weeks went by, still with no Spencer, he began to feel depressed. He snapped at O'Hara constantly, and when he didn't get a Shawn-like response, he got pissed off because now the world was knocked off balance. He _always _threatened and bantered and teased and did whatever to Spencer, and Spencer would spring right back with some comment about his hair or made reference of some obscure 80's movie. He found himself more tired, and mused one day that Spencer was like his cup of coffee that lasted the whole day - he was the one who kept him on his toes, and he had enough energy balled into that body of his to cover for all of the officers and detectives and any visitor passing through in the whole damn police station. Now they were just on hangover - Shawn Hangover.

Everyone at the police station was quieter now, too, and their crime closer rate went down a few notches. No one realized it in the first few weeks after Shawn had left, but eventually they made the connection that Shawn was a lot of the backbone of the entire SBPD. He was the spark that brought the entire machinery to life, and even though some were skeptical of Shawn's psychic abilities - namely Lassiter but also a few others - they had to admit that he got the job done. Any case that he was given - or any case that he burst his way into - he got it done, and he got it done efficiently. Some of his methods were...odd...but even when he said that a dinosaur had killed someone in the 21st century, it still somehow turned out to be true.

Gus sighed again as he pulled in to the company parking lot. Glancing around, he saw that no one else was there, but he parked anyway and got out of his car, locking it behind him.

As he walked toward the door to the building, holding a stack of folders in his hands, he suddenly stopped, noticing for the first time that someone had lied down on the curb next to the lamp post near the door and had seemingly fallen asleep.

He walked forward a bit cautiously, not knowing if whoever it was was dangerous. He shifted his files to one arm and pulled out his cell out with the other. He dialed 9-1-1, keeping his thumb over the CALL button, just in case.

"Hello?" Gus called hesitantly. "Sir? ...Can I help you with anything?"

As Gus drew closer, he realized that the man was obviously homeless, a dirty old brown satchel lying next to him. The man had dark hair and a full beard, and his clothes were old, stained, and tattered.

"Sir?" Gus asked again, reaching out to touch the man's shoulder.

As soon as he did, however, the man shot up, his hazel eyes darting around in frenzied panic. He grabbed his satchel and held it to his chest like it was a shield - no, Gus realized - more like a security blanket.

Gus had taken a couple of steps back in surprise when the man had moved so suddenly, but when he looked closer, looked past the unkempt appearance and long, straggly beard, and he saw those eyes, those familiar hazel eyes...

"Shawn!"

Shawn looked up at Gus with no recognition on his face, in his eyes, in his tense body posture. He scrambled backwards on the sidewalk in a crab walk sort of way, ignoring the rocks digging into his dirty palms. His broken fingernails raked across the sidewalk pavement as he subconsciously curled his fingers into half-fists. He stared at Gus with a strange look on his face - fear mixed with panic and confusion and distress.

But most confusing was the next words to come out of Shawn's mouth, stuttering and sort of gutteral, like he hadn't spoken in a long time:

"Wh-who are you?"

* * *

**So...what did you guys think? I'm thinking of a lot of ideas in my head of how to continue, so I hope you guys like this a lot! Doesn't this deserve a review? Come on. ;) You know you want to. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

Gus stared down at his best friend, shock, joy, and confusion coloring his face. Shawn's words echoed in his head – _Who are you? _– and it took a few moments before he could respond.

He took a step forward and reached his hand out to touch him again, stopping when Shawn flinched back violently, fear and apprehension in his eyes.

"Shawn, what happened?" Gus asked him concernedly. "It's me. It's Gus."

Shawn shook his head, scooting back even more. "Naw, man," he said nervously, "I-I-I think you've got me mistaken for someone else."

"Shawn, if this is some sick joke..." Gus said with a sigh.

"I don't know who you are!" Shawn exclaimed, and then flinched back as though he expected to be hit. In a slightly softer voice, he said, "I've never seen you before."

"Well...then who are you?" Gus asked, deciding to just go with it and see where it went.

"M-my name is Spencer," Shawn said. "I'm nobody."

"Shawn, I know you're confused right now, but I can help you," Gus said. "The police - "

At these words, fear lit in his eyes ever brighter. He scooted back a couple more inches. "No! No police! I didn't do anything!"

"I know you didn't, Shawn," Gus tried to tell him.

"I'm _not _Shawn!" he scrambled to his feet then. "My name is Spencer, and stop pretending like you know me - like you can _help _me!"

After that, he started running out of the parking lot.

"Shawn!" Gus shouted after him. He dropped his files without a thought and began running after him. "_Shawn!_"

Gus chased after Shawn as fast as he could, but after a minute of running he stopped, already exhausted. _Too much sugar today, _he thought as he bent over to put his hands on his knees, gasping for breath. Then he got back up and started walking, seeing if he could find where Shawn went.

After another minute, he came upon Shawn's form at the side of the road, collapsed on the ground and unmoving.

"Shawn!" Gus exclaimed, closing the gap between them. He knelt down beside his friend, rolling him over onto his back. His eyes were closed - he was unconscious. He also reeked of BO and saltwater, but Gus ignored it - for once - feeling against his hairy neck for a pulse. It was there.

But, knowing that if Shawn was put in a hospital he would freak out in the state he was in (he wasn't keen on it when he was his _normal _self, let alone him in this amnesiac state), he simply picked him up - bridal style - and carried him back to the car. He thought distantly that normally this wouldn't be possible, but he was running on so much adrenaline from finding Shawn like this that it was like carrying a baby.

He put Shawn's limp form in the passenger seat, and after several tries, he was able to buckle him in. He closed the door and then picked up his files from where he'd dropped them at the light post. Then he went around to the driver's seat, climbing in and turning on the engine.

Several thoughts ran through his head as he drove away from his office, toward Henry's house on the other side of town.

What had happened to Shawn that he was so disoriented? He didn't even know who Gus was, and they'd known each other pretty much as long as they'd been alive. Would he remember his dad, or would he freak out again? With his amnesia, what would they do with the whole police-psychic situation? He couldn't let Shawn be around them too much until he was more himself – otherwise he could blow his cover about being psychic.

And why had Shawn passed out? What was wrong with him that he wouldn't even be able to stay awake during a chase? Hopefully it wasn't anything too serious. And the memory thing – hopefully he would bounce back to himself fairly quickly. He wondered if his memory ever _would _come back. He'd heard stories about people who got amnesia, and they had to re-learn everything from their past lives. Some of them remembered things, but sometimes their memories were locked away forever.

Gus' thoughts trailed off as he pulled into Henry's driveway. He checked the clock on the dashboard – it was only six o' clock, but Henry was an early riser. Hopefully he would be awake.

He turned off the car and got out, closing the door behind him. Checking to make sure that Shawn was still unconscious, he went to the front door. He took a couple of deep, nervous breaths, and then knocked on the door, not looking forward to this meeting.

The door swung open to reveal Henry in fishing gear. When he saw Gus, he exclaimed, "Guster! You're right on time! I just got back from fishing and I need some help gutting and scaling them for breakfast."

"Mr. Spencer," Gus said before Henry could continue. "I need your help. Well, actually…Shawn – _he_ needs your help."

Henry gave an exasperated sigh. "Finally got back, huh? What'd he do this time? Dislocate his kneecap in another damn motorcycle accident?"

"No," Gus said, and tried to continue, but Henry interrupted.

"No? What? Break his leg? His arm?"

"Mr. Spencer," Gus said, getting increasingly annoyed. "He's fine – physically. He's passed out in my car."

"He got drunk?" Henry sounded surprised.

"No!" Gus snapped. "He just…collapsed. He was running, and I was chasing him, but then he just fell. He hasn't woken up since."

"Why were you chasing him?" Henry focused in on that one small detail, eyebrows crinkled in confusion.

"He's – he was – look, Mr. Spencer, you really need to see it for yourself."

With his own sigh of annoyance, Henry followed Gus back to the car. When his eyes lit on Shawn, still unconscious in the passenger seat, he raised his eyebrows.

"He looks like he hasn't shaved in two months," he muttered to himself disgustedly, but then he opened the passenger door and saw the rest of him – the tattered clothes and scuffed, dirty, and unfamiliar shoes. His bag sat on his lap, Shawn's fingers limply grasping the strap.

"What _happened _to him?" Henry demanded, whirling to face Gus.

Gus shook his head. "I don't know, Mr. Spencer, but…he was asleep near a lamp post at work, and when he woke up he didn't know who I was. That's why he ran."

The anger on Henry's face faded into concern as he looked back at his only son. Even underneath that scruffy beard and longer hair, he could still see his little boy. But he had seen Shawn passed out before, and he had always looked so peaceful. Now, though, he could see the tense lines on his forehead and around his eyes.

"Come on," Henry said gruffly, unbuckling Shawn's seatbelt. "Help me get him inside."

Gus and Henry sat in the living room, watching Shawn and waiting for him to wake up. It had been about a half hour since Shawn had been laid down on the couch. He was still dirty, but Henry had put down an old sheet so that he wouldn't scuff the couch. Gus had explained everything to Henry from the time he had arrived at the office to when he had arrived at Henry's front door, and now they sat in tense silence, both worried about Shawn.

"You know," Gus finally said to Henry, "Since he doesn't know who I am, and we don't _know_ if he knows who you are, it might be a good idea for us to be doing something else, so that when he wakes up he won't be freaked out."

"Sure, Guster," Henry said, sounding like he wasn't really listening. "Go – do something else then. Make breakfast. Mow the lawn. Scale the fish. I don't really give a damn what you do, but _I_ for one, am _not _moving from this spot until Shawn wakes up."

As though on cue, Shawn stirred and groaned, giving Gus no chance to respond. He brought the heel of his hand to his forehead, pressing on it as though to alleviate a headache. Then suddenly, he shot up, eyes flying open and glancing wildly around, alarm filling his expression as he started thrashing to get up.

"Shawn! Shawn, calm down!"

Shawn became aware of two people speaking to him, and saw a black man about his age and a gruff, grandpa-looking man with blond hair. They were stepping closer to him. He scrambled to his feet, shoes getting tangled with the sheet on the couch and making him fall over. He kicked at the sheet, scooting backwards as he did so, trying to get away from them.

"Wh-Where am I?" Shawn demanded, voice filled with desperation and fear.

"Shawn, you're okay," Henry said, coming over to him. Shawn scooted backwards a little, but Henry only knelt down and untangled the sheet from Shawn's feet, slowly and carefully. Shawn paused at the gesture, one that seemed to be so…caring. But he still didn't look directly at Henry, staring instead at his shoes.

"You're at my house, remember?" Henry continued. "You've been here before. You're safe here."

Shawn's body seemed to relax a little at Henry's calm, soothing words, but he tensed again when Henry held out a hand to him.

"It's okay," Henry said with uncharacteristic gentleness, "I'm not gonna hurt you."

Shawn tentatively raised his hand to meet Henry's, and Henry then pulled him to his feet. Shawn had still kept his eyes averted, but now he looked up at the kind man, into his eyes. Those familiar blue eyes…

"Dad," he said softly, without even thinking about it. "You're…you're my dad."

Henry quirked an odd little smile. "Yeah, kiddo. I'm your dear ol' dad."

Shawn relaxed a little more, but then Gus stepped forward, and Shawn tensed again. Gus stopped his advance.

"It's alright, Shawn," Henry assured him. "You remember Gus, don't you? He's been your best friend pretty much since you were born."

"Gus…" Shawn said slowly, as though trying it on for size. But it was clear that he didn't remember him at all. He shook his head as though to clear cobwebs from his brain. "But _my_ name is Spencer – not…not Shawn."

Henry nodded. "Your name _is _Spencer," he agreed. "But that's my name, too, so everyone calls you Shawn. Okay?"

Shawn shook his head. "My name is _Spencer_," he said stubbornly.

"That's alright, buddy," Henry said, patting his shoulder, and then he changed the subject. "You look hungry. You want some breakfast?"

Shawn really _was _hungry, and he _did _want to eat, but he was still a little hesitant. He knew that this man was his father, but it was more a gut instinct than remembrance. He had no idea what their relationship was like, if he was safe to say yes. So he shook his head no.

"Come on, Sh-Spencer – I know you want pineapple pancakes - they're your favorite! I'll go make some and you can shower off, clean yourself up and get into some clean clothes."

At this, Shawn tensed ever more. This was unfamiliar territory. He didn't know where to go, what to do.

Gus saw the look on his best friend's face and immediately said, "C'mon, Sha-Spencer – I'll help you find your way around."

For the first time since he'd been found, Shawn looked at Gus with an expression akin to gratefulness. He allowed himself to be led up the stairs and to the shower. He didn't mind when he stripped down in front of Gus, but it had nothing to do with their close friendship – he literally had no pride in the matter. He was so dirty anyway that his skin was almost as dark as Gus', and because of this, it didn't reveal much. **(A/N: reading back on that, it sounds a little racist, but that's not what I mean. Imagine if you were covered in dirt the opposite color of your skin - it's going to cover some, and that's what I mean with Shawn. Just thought I should clear that up...:/)**

Gus wasn't looking on purpose, but his eyes glanced over to Shawn's left shoulder, and he saw a long scab running from his shoulder-neck area down across to the end of his elbow. It looked like the cut had been deep and clean – sure to leave a scar. He wondered how he'd gotten the cut. It looked like…

It looked like someone had cut it that way on purpose.

Gus' heart pounded faster as Shawn turned on the water and got in the shower. He leaned against the wall, trying to think. If someone had cut Shawn's arm on purpose, what _else _could've happened to him while he was away? Had he been on a case? Why would he be on a case without him? Yeah, they'd fought, but they were still best friends, partners. He wouldn't work a case without him. But what else _could've _happened? If someone was going to make a cut like that on _purpose_, what other reason could they have besides to stop Shawn from figuring out that they were doing soimething illegal? Or was it something with his dad? Revenge, maybe? For what? Maybe he'd been tortured even more than he obviously already was. That was probably why Shawn had lost his memory - his head had probably been hit at some point...

Gus came out of his thoughts as the water turned off and Shawn opened the curtain. He was mostly clean-shaven now, only a few bits and pieces of hair sticking out from his neck. His hair was a little longish, but Gus could still recognize his best friend.

Shawn, unaware of Gus' gaze, grabbed the towel hanging on the rack and wrapped himself in it, and then stood fidgeting, unsure what else to do.

Gus motioned with his head to follow him, and they went to Shawn's old room. Gus found a red Polo in his closet, and then grabbed some underwear and a pair of jeans for Shawn. Shawn slipped them on silently, and Gus found himself feeling more uncomfortable by his silence than he had been his nudity. It was so strange to hear him this way - or _not _hear him, anyway. He missed the real Shawn.

"Was I really your best friend?" Shawn asked Gus suddenly after he buttoned his jeans.

Gus nodded firmly. "You still are."

Shawn was quiet for a minute, and then he asked, "Then why don't I know you?"

Gus responded with a question of his own. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Shawn frowned. "From what?"

Gus shrugged. "Whatever happened to you. Speaking of which...do you still have your bike?"

Shawn's frown deepened. "My bike?"

Gus sighed. "I'll take that as a 'no.' Anyway, _everyone _has an earliest memory. What's yours?"

Shawn looked contemplative for a moment, and then closed his eyes, a furrow forming between his eyebrows as he thought.

"Lassie..." he muttered after several moments. Then his eyes shot open. "Who's Lassie?"

"He's the head detective for the SBPD," Gus replied promptly. "His real name is Lassiter, though. Lassie is your nickname for him."

"He was looking for someone, on some posters..." Shawn muttered, not seeming to have heard him. "I can't...I can't see the face, though."

Gus reached out and patted Shawn's shoulder, glad when he let him. Though, Shawn didn't seem aware of it, lost in his own thoughts. "That's okay, Shawn. It'll come to you when you're ready."

"Mm," Shawn said noncommitally.

"Come on," Gus said after several moments of silence. He put a hand at the small of his back, guiding him gently forward. "Your dad is probably done making breakfast."

* * *

**So...does this deserve a review? I think it does. ;)**


	3. Chapter 3

Juliet O'Hara was doing paperwork, looking online, taking notes – she didn't really know. She wasn't one hundred percent aware of what she was doing, except wishing that Shawn Spencer was standing in front of her desk, making jokes and trying to make her laugh.

A file slapped down on her desk, making Juliet startle slightly. She looked up at Lassiter, who said:

"O'Hara, this needs to be filed by noon," he said crossly, and then walked away.

Juliet sighed, knowing better than to argue as she carelessly opened the file to the first page.

She hadn't even gotten started when her phone rang, making her jump yet again in under a minute. With a scolding scowl to herself, she answered the phone, saying, "SBPD, Detective O'Hara speaking." After a moment of listening, she almost dropped the phone in shock. "He's _back_?!" she almost screamed, causing several officers to look her way. She ignored them, saying, "That's great, Gus! Where did...oh. _Oh_. Well, sure - I suppose. But...well, when is he going to come down here? Well, what do you think happened to him? Well, I hope he's okay...yeah. I'll come at lunch break. Okay. Yeah, hopefully. Bye, Gus."

Lassiter came back then, barking, "O'Hara! I don't see you filing!"

"Shawn is back!" Juliet exclaimed with excitement. Then her expression fell a little. "But he has amnesia."

Lassiter rolled his eyes. "Great. Now I have to deal with him for another three years before he takes off on the damn bike again." But he still looked pleased.

Juliet knocked nervously on Henry Spencer's front door, and then twiddled with her thumbs while she waited for it to be answered. It was her lunch break, and she was finally able to come and see how Shawn was doing. She wasn't really sure what to expect – would Shawn be acting like a drunk or a stoner? Then she chided herself for thinking this way – he only had amnesia, not a change of personality.

She was interrupted from her thoughts when Gus opened the front door. Juliet saw immediately the stress lines on his forehead, though along with the stress there was also a certain relief. Juliet understood – he was glad that Shawn was back, but he was worried about his amnesia problem.

"Hey, Juliet," Gus greeted her. He motioned with his head for her to come inside. "Come on in."

Juliet followed Gus inside, and Gus said a little softly, as though he didn't want Shawn to hear, "He's eating lunch with his dad right now. He's still confused about it all and not too comfortable with anyone. I hope he remembers _you_, though." The last part was mumbled to himself, and Juliet wasn't sure if she was supposed to have heard it or not.

They turned the corner and walked into the kitchen and adjoining dining room, and Juliet saw Shawn sitting at the table, Henry sitting across from him. She could see a long scab on his arm coming out from his Polo, and realized that it was a healing knife cut. His hair was longer than he usually had it, covering half of his ears and brushing his shirt collar. He had also shaved recently, though there were a few stubs that she could see he had missed. On his jaw line, just underneath it, she could see another long scab, and wondered how he'd gotten that one. He sat hunched over, slowly and idly eating the fish that Henry had obviously caught that day. He looked bored – or maybe it was tired. She couldn't tell, but she could definitely see the tenseness in his shoulders, his hunched posture as though he expected someone to hit him at any moment.

"Hey, Shawn," she greeted him softly, going over and sitting next to him at the table. She turned sideways in her chair so that she could still see him.

She was confused when Shawn didn't look up at her, didn't even acknowledge her presence. She was about to say something else to him when Henry said:

"Spencer – Juliet O'Hara is here to see you."

It was only then that Shawn looked up at her, and Juliet didn't have to be a detective to see the emotions flickering in his eyes. Sure, his expression was blank, but behind those hazel eyes she could see his pain, worry, and fear all rolled into one. She was caught breathless for a moment, and had to think before she could say anything else.

"Hey, Shawn," she started, but he interrupted her.

"M' name's Spencer," he told her, though not harshly. He said it like he was exasperated with having to repeat it, like he'd said it many times already. "Why does everyone keep calling me Shawn?"

"If you prefer Spencer, I'll call you Spencer, then," she said after glancing at Gus, who was standing behind his friend. "Anyway, Spencer, how are you feeling?"

Shawn swung his eyes back to the fish in front of him. He prodded the fish with a fork. "M' fine," he mumbled. Then he looked up at her again. "How do I know Lassie?"

Juliet stopped herself from smirking a little bit. "You work with him, Sh-Spencer. You tease him a lot, but you really do like him. And he won't admit it, but he likes you, too."

Shawn frowned and stated bluntly, "You're lying. I'm not gay."

Juliet blinked, startled by Shawn's sudden assumption. "No, that's not what I meant, Sha-Spencer." She had to correct herself yet again. "I meant as friends…like how you like Gus."

Shawn's frown deepened and he glanced over to Gus. He muttered something unintelligible, and Juliet thought that he'd said something like, "But I don't _know _Gus."

Juliet sighed inwardly, and then said to Shawn, "So…where have you been? What have you been doing?"

Shawn shrugged and met Juliet's gaze for a couple of seconds before he looked back down again. "Stuff," he said, sounding almost gloomy. It was odd for Juliet to see him like that – he was usually so upbeat and happy. "I got around."

"What'd you do this time?" Gus asked casually, sitting next to Henry across from Shawn. "Did you go to the Big Apple?"

Shawn shook his head. "No…" he said distantly, sounding only a little coherent, if at all. "I went to Salt Lake City." A smile ghosted across his features, but it was nothing like the careless smile they all knew. It was a longing smile, a homesick sort of smile that an old man makes as he wishes for his youth. "I saw those lights that those Mormons put up on Temple Square. You always said you thought it was pointless that they put them up, but you have to be there to really appreciate it." Suddenly tears filled his eyes and he stood up suddenly, shoving his chair back and making it clatter to the floor.

"Why can't you just fucking _appreciate _things?" he cried suddenly, but there was an almost blank look in his eyes that showed that he wasn't fully aware of what he was saying. "You never appreciate _anything_. I tried to help you – goddammit, I tried _so _hard, but I'm not crazy!" he closed his eyes, ticking off things that he apparently remembered. "October eighteenth: eighteen logs. November fourth: twenty-nine logs. November seventeenth: twenty-two logs. There was snow on the sixteenth, and hail on the twentieth." He opened his eyes again. "I'm _not_ crazy!" he said forcefully. "I remember things and I notice things, but I'm _not_ crazy – I promise! I don't need to go there. I promise I don't. I'm sorry. I won't shout again." He picked up his chair and sat down, scooting the chair in. "I'll help more, I promise. But I need to get out. I don't do well without people around. I get lonely. But it's okay. Do what you need to. I'll help, or I won't help. Whatever you need. Just don't do it again. It hurts – _fuck_, it hurts!"

Shawn abruptly fell silent, and he looked up at Juliet for a couple of seconds before he looked back down again. "Stuff," he said, sounding almost gloomy. "I got around."

The others blinked in surprise when they realized that Shawn didn't know that he'd gone off on his rant right then. He thought she'd just asked where he'd been and what he'd been doing.

And that made them all concerned. What had happened that made him do that?

_Well, _Juliet thought determinedly, looking at Henry and Gus and then back at Shawn. _Whatever it is, we __**have **__to help him go back to his normal self. Then we can find whatever __**bastard **__did this to him._

* * *

**Okay, little tease, but he finally met Juliet…he's going to meet Lassie in the next chapter, so hang tight! Review? :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Alright...yes, there was a terribly long wait, but this is the chapter where you finally find out why Shawn forgot everything! Yay! (I hate not knowing) I'm pretty sure I got the details for it right (you'll know what I mean when you read it), but if not, just go with it. ;) Enjoy!**

* * *

"You mean to tell me that you don't even _care _to find out what happened to you?"

Shawn gazed up at Detective Lassiter around three-thirty that afternoon, a look of content and almost of awe on his face. He had been like this for the past twenty minutes, ever since he had come to the station with Gus and Juliet and they had gone over to Lassiter's desk.

Lassiter, however, didn't seem to notice Shawn's starstruck gaze in his direction. He glanced at Shawn a few times, when he was asking him a question or spoke to him directly, but otherwise he looked at Juliet. He never once looked at Gus.

When Shawn didn't answer Lassiter's question, Lassiter turned and snapped his fingers in his face. "Hey! Spencer!" Shawn seemed to grow even more pleased that he didn't even have to correct him about his name, but Lassiter ignored this and continued, "Did you even hear what I just asked?"

"Carlton," Juliet said in a gentle scolding voice. "Be nice."

Lassiter rolled his eyes, about to snap at Shawn again, but then Shawn said, "I don't _need_ to remember. I remember enough."

"Shawn, you don't even remember your real _name_!" Gus cried suddenly. "You _do _need to remember!"

Shawn turned to glare at Gus, looking upset for the first time since arriving at the police station. "My name is _not _Shawn," he bit out. "It's _Spencer_, and the only one who knows that, apparently, is _Lassie_. I was told you're my best friend, but a best friend would _know _his best friend's name! So, maybe Henry lied – or he just didn't know – that maybe _Lassie _is my best friend."

Gus looked visibly shocked, but before he could say anything, Lassie cut in, saying a bit uncomfortably, "I'm not your best friend, Spencer. I don't even _like _you."

"Carlton!" Juliet scolded, not gently this time. "You're the only person he _remembers_! Could you be a _little _more diplomatic about it?!"

Shawn didn't look fazed, though. "That's okay, Detective. I know he likes me, and I like him. You told me so. That's what friends do – they joke with each other and pretend _not_ to like each other."

"You're not even _acting_ like yourself, though," Lassiter mused. "One would think that even with your memory gone, you'd still be yourself."

Shawn looked a little nervous now. "Are you upset with how I'm acting?"

Lassiter rolled his eyes again. "Jesus, Spencer, did you _seriously_ just ask me that?"

Shawn's nervousness grew even more at his non-response. "Well…_are_ you?"

For the first time, Lassiter really _looked _at Shawn, at his nervousness, his fear, his uncertainty…and his face softened. Only slightly, but it was enough. In an almost kind voice, he said, "Of course not. You are who you are – it's just odd now because it's so different than normal."

Shawn's face relaxed, and he shifted his feet a little. "My only clear memory is of you," he said suddenly. "You were looking at a poster – I think it was a wanted poster, and it looked like you were in your house. It was hanging on your corkboard…"

"Oh," Lassiter said, a bit uncomfortably. "Okay…"

"Well, if you _want _me to remember," Shawn said insistently, "We could go to your house and see what poster you were looking at."

"Oh. Oh!" Lassiter's eyes lit with understanding. "Yeah, yeah. Sure."

"You need to go to a hospital first, though," Juliet cut in. "There could be something wrong with your head, and that's why - "

At the word 'hospital' Shawn's eyes grew wide with fear. "No!" he yelped loudly, causing heads to turn in their direction. Then, in a softer, pleading voice, he said, "Please…no hospitals."

"O…kay," Juliet said hesitantly. "But there could be something in your head that's causing you to forget everything. It can be helped if you just get it checked out."

Shawn shook his head frantically. "No no no no no. Please – no hospitals. I can't. Not now."

"That's alright, Spencer," Gus said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to go. I'm sure they won't do anything helpful, anyway."

Shawn relaxed and mumbled a "thanks" to his forgotten friend.

"We can go later," Lassiter said after a moment. "I'm piled with work right now, so I can't today. How about you come to the station after lunch tomorrow?"

Shawn nodded, allowing a small smile to come to his features. It wasn't the same smile he normally wore, but it was there. "Thanks, Lassie."

* * *

Shawn and Gus opened the doors of the police station, quickly going in and closing the door to escape from the pouring rain. They closed their umbrellas as they walked through, soon finding Juliet at her desk. She rose when she saw them.

"Hey, guys," she greeted them. "Lassiter is in the interrogation room - he should be done soon. You can wait on the benches, or - " A loud crack of thunder interrupted her, booming loudly for several moments and vibrating the walls. When it finished, Juliet continued with a knowing smile, "Or you can wait outside."

Gus and Shawn looked at each other, then back at Juliet. "We'll wait here," they chorused, and Shawn seemed so much like himself in that moment that Juliet almost forgot that Shawn had amnesia.

Shawn and Gus walked back down the hallway, and plopped themselves on the benches at the front of the station. Shawn flinched a little at every flash of lightning, but Gus didn't seem to notice, looking at something on his phone.

Lassiter came out about ten minutes after they'd sat down, looking a little red-faced. Apparently his suspect hadn't cracked yet.

Shawn relaxed substantially when Lassiter arrived, and he jumped to his feet.

"I've only got about an hour, so let's get moving," Lassiter practically growled. Without a word, Shawn and Gus followed him out the door, again raising their umbrellas to get to Lassiter's car. Juliet followed behind them. Shawn and Gus got in the back seat, and Juliet got in the front passenger, Lassiter taking the wheel. The ride was made mostly in silence, and Shawn kept his eyes closed the whole way there. Gus noticed, but he didn't say anything about it - he figured his friend was probably just tired. What he didn't notice were the imperceptible lines of stress around his eyes, and the way he cringed a little at every crack of thunder.

Fifteen minutes later, they stood in front of Lassiter's corkboard, Shawn staring at the board and the other three staring at him. After a moment, Shawn shook his head and looked at them.

"I don't...there's nothing," he said, sounding like a child. He seemed about ready to cry. Gus suspected that this was more because he didn't want to disappoint Lassiter than that he was disappointed with himself.

"What if we recreated the scene?" Juliet suggested. "Carlton, stand in front of the board, and Shawn - you stand where you would've seen him."

They did as she instructed, and she and Gus stepped back out of the way.

"Put your hand up," Shawn told Lassiter after a moment. He closed his eyes. "Like you're pointing - point to the...the bottom right corner."

For once, Lassiter did as he was told without complaint. Shawn opened his eyes, and it was clear that he had realized something.

"Gus," he said, sounding a bit surprised. "Come here."

Once Gus had crossed over to his friend, Shawn took him by the shoulders and positioned him to stand a little in front of Lassiter and to the side.

"Put your hands on your hips," Shawn said, "Like you can't believe something I'm saying."

Once Gus had done this, Shawn positioned Juliet as well, putting her behind Lassiter a few feet and almost completely around the corner.

"Now act like you're listening to both of us, and...and aren't sure who to believe," Shawn said, struggling to find the right words.

Then Shawn stepped back to his position before, surveying the scene before him. After staring for a moment, he closed his eyes, visualizing the scene again.

_"The guy's known for armed robberies across the U.S., but he never __**actually **__hurt anyone. Later, it was even discovered that he used props instead of real weapons. So, Spencer, would you mind explaining to me why you think he would suddenly escalate to the murder of four teenage girls?"_

_It was clear that Lassiter didn't believe him, but Shawn really needed this case. He had to say something contradictory to Lassiter's theory, or he wouldn't be hired to solve this. Gus stood in his signature "I-can't-believe-you-Shawn" posture, and Juliet looked like she wasn't sure who to believe._

_"Come on, Lassie," Shawn said as though he was speaking to a child. "Line up the facts - the __**right **__facts. He was - "_

Suddenly a crack of thunder brought Shawn rushing back to the present, his eyes flashing wide open. He was hardly aware of Juliet, Lassiter, and Gus looking at him expectantly, instead noticing with poignant clarity the booming thunder outside and the flickering lights in the room. Bright, dark, white, black, bright, black, dark, white...

_No!_

* * *

The others watched Shawn as he concentrated, trying to think. Gus knew that Shawn would be able to remember if he really tried; if he really gave it a moment.

Suddenly they were all startled by the crack of thunder that vibrated the house, causing the lights to flicker on and off. Gus was the first to notice that Shawn had opened his eyes wide and was now white as a sheet. He hardly had any time to register this before he saw Shawn begin to shake his head, eyes wide with fear.

"No no no no no..." he muttered, growing louder every time. His entire body began trembling as though he was a giant chihuahua. He covered his ears with the palms of his hands, still shaking his head, terrified as the lights continued to flicker.

"Spen - Shawn!" Gus exclaimed, worried for his friend. He went quickly over to Shawn and took his arms, trying to take them away from his ears. Shawn just stared at him, no recognition on his face as he continued to mutter.

"Shawn, calm down!" Gus tried, but Shawn only squeezed his eyes shut and yanked away from his grip.

"What's the matter with him?!" Juliet cried, coming over, but Shawn didn't notice her either.

"No no NO! NO! NO!" Shawn's voice had risen to screams as he battled his seemingly internal fight, head shakes becoming more and more violent as time continued. The flickering lights stopped, but still Shawn kept yelling.

"What do we do?!" Juliet shouted desperately to her partner.

"Sorry," he said apologetically, "There's really nothing _to _do but put him out for a while."

"_What?!_"

"I have some chloroform in the kitchen," Lassiter continued as though he hadn't heard her. "I'll be back."

Less than a minute later, Shawn lied, unconscious, on Lassiter's couch. It had been a bit difficult to get a hold on him, as he kept jerking away from anyone who tried to get close, but finally Lassiter had been able to wrap his arm around his neck and put the chloroform-soaked cloth over his nose and mouth. Almost immediately, Shawn had dropped like a stone, forcing Lassiter to half-carry, half-drag his limp form onto the couch. While he did this, Juliet took the chloroform away from him and put it on the kitchen counter, and then came back to sit down in the chair next to Lassiter's.

"What was that?" Juliet whispered after several moments of staring at Shawn's face. "What happened to him?"

Gus had been pacing in front of the couch until that moment, when she asked the question. Then suddenly, he stopped and looked at Shawn, realization dawning on his face.

"He freaked because of the flickering lights," he said to no one in particular.

Lassiter understood then, too, and he had to swallow against the sudden bile in his throat. "They experience flashing across their vision during the procedure," he muttered, sounding like he was remembering something he'd written on a flash card at some point in his life.

"What?" Juliet asked, not getting it. "What are you guys thinking?"

Gus was the one who answered. "He forgot _everything _- even his _name _- and he freaks at sudden flashes. That sounds like what happens after someone goes through electroshock therapy."

"But isn't that usually for people who are mental?" Juliet asked, already dreading the answer.

Lassiter said, "Well...yes. But not if you're doing something illegal, and you want _this_ kid to forget everything he ever saw about it." he nodded to Shawn's unconscious form.

"But..."

"Come on, O'Hara. _You _saw the knife scabs. Obviously someone wants to go on with their illegal acts, and with Shawn in the way, that can't happen. So what do they do? They zap his brain cells and turn him into this...this _half-vegetable_ and send him on his way."

Juliet blew out an angry breath. "Bastards," she breathed.

Lassiter nodded in whole hearted agreement. "I can promise you now - we're going to catch these sons of bitches before they try to come after Shawn again."

* * *

**So...I have the next chapter written, but I don't want to post it at the same time as this one, because then I don't get reviews for both chapters - I have people reading both chapters and then commenting on the last one...call me greedy, but I like my reviews! So, my basic rule of thumb is to get 10 or 15 reviews for every chapter, and THEN update...so can you guys help with that?**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks so much for the reviews, guys! I love the quick responses! Thanks to the 12 people who reviewed between yesterday and today, I can now post the next chapter for everyone else, too! Thank you, also, Really (Guest) – I get where you're coming from, but 10-15 reviews per chapter is really what I average on for each of my stories, so it's really just MY thing. But thanks for saying something! I realize I was super tired last night and the way I worded my note the way I did kind of made me sound like a bitch – sorry, guys!**

**Also, this ****_is _****one of my favorite chapters, because you see more of the relationship between Shawn and Lassiter...no slash, though! Sorry... You'll see what I mean when you read it. Enjoy!**

* * *

_He opened his eyes slowly, and was confused when he saw nothing but white. White was everywhere. Was he dead? Was this fog he was seeing? It was so...milky._

_There was a rushing, whooshing sound in his ears, like white water, but just when he became aware of this fact, the sound suddenly cut off, leaving him with a slight dull ringing sound. Was that a telephone? It sounded like an eighties telephone ring - tinny, like the ones they use in musicals. _

_Suddenly a face came into view. It was blurry, but somehow he knew instinctively that he didn't want to piss off whoever it was. He remained silent, causing the man to poke his forehead roughly._

_"Hey, Spencer!" he yelled, though it sounded like he was calling from the opposite end of a tunnel. "Anything in there?!"_

_"Spencer..." he mumbled, not realizing he was doing so until the words were out of his mouth. He felt a little sick to his stomach - for no apparent reason - when the man gave him a sick, twisted sort of smile. It was clear that he hadn't smiled too much before...maybe he was like Anastasia in Cinderella II - he was physically unable to smile, and this was his attempt at it. That seemed right._

_"Glad to see you're still alive," the other man said smoothly, and he noticed that the echoing sound was gradually dissipating._

_"Alive?" he said dully, sounding groggy. "What...what happened?"_

_The other man's non-smile grew. "I don't know," he said, and he immediately knew that he was lying, though why was unclear. "I found you here."_

_"Here?" he whispered, feeling sleepy. "Where's...where's 'here'?"_

_"Don't worry about it, Spencer - you're not going to remember this conversation anyway."_

_"Then why not tell me?" he asked, feeling indignant and a little scared, though he wasn't completely sure why he felt that way._

_"Because," the other man said, and now his smile really __**was **__creepy, because it was obvious he was trying to be._

_He felt a new sense of fear, one that cut deep and told him nothing good was in store for him...rather, something very, very bad._

_Just as this last thought crossed his mind, the room suddenly spun, as though he was spinning in a rolling chair for an office of some sort. He slowly became aware that he __**was **__in a spinning chair, and his arms were strapped to the armrest, and there was a strap across his forehead that connected him to the headrest, making him unable to move. That must be what was keeping his head up, because he was sure that with how groggy he felt right then, he'd never be able to -_

_Suddenly there was a burning, stabbing pain in his neck/shoulder area, white-hot in its intensity as it then slowly traveled down the back of his arm, stopping at his elbow. He realized that he was screaming out in agonizing pain, but what else __**could **__he do? He was absolutely helpless, strapped down as he was._

_He ran out of breath, and sucked in another huge gulp of air, trying to cut off his screaming. Then there were the dreaded flashes - dark, light, white, black, dark, white, light, dark...over and over, even as his head exploded like it was struck by lightning. He was half-aware that someone was screaming - the sound filled his ears along with the loud zapping sound. It was suddenly so confusing - this pain...where did it come from? Where was he? What had happened?_

_What was his name?_

_Then the answer came - to the last question, at least. It was a familiar voice that said it in his mind, angry but not angry at the same time. _

**_Spencer!_**

_"Spencer..." He was just barely able to think the half-coherent thought before the pain became too much, the lights took up his vision, and he finally succumbed to a painless, blissful sleep._

* * *

Shawn opened his eyes quickly and shot up, making the room spin for a moment. After a few seconds, he regained his bearings and he saw that he was on a couch in an unfamiliar room, three slightly familiar-looking people asleep on the other chairs in the room. With a small sigh, he sat back in the couch, putting his head back against it.

Almost unthinkingly, he stroked the scab under his chin with his finger, something that had become a habit ever since...well, he didn't know when. He closed his eyes, tying to relax, and was just about to fall asleep when suddenly his eyes flew open. It hadn't been a conscious thought on his part, but something just told him...

He got up silently, not wanting to wake up the other three, and tip-toed to the kitchen, turning on the light over the stove. He rifled quietly through the drawers before he finally found what he was looking for. Then, closing the drawer silently, he walked to the bathroom down the hall, leaving the door open and turning on the light. He took off his shirt and stared at himself in the mirror for a few moments.

Bruises. Scabs. Thin. He could see the outline of each of his ribs - he could count _all _of them. He traced the C-shaped scab curling around his left breast, staring at it in the mirror. He turned around and looked over his shoulder so that he could see the scab trailing down to his elbow. A bit slowly, he raised the butcher's knife in his right hand and slowly, carefully traced from the top of the scab to the bottom with the very tip of the knife.

_Suddenly there was a burning, stabbing pain in his neck/shoulder area, white-hot in its intensity as it then slowly traveled down the back of his arm, stopping at his elbow. He realized that he was screaming out in agonizing pain, but what else __**could **__he do?_

_He ran out of breath, and sucked in another huge gulp of air, trying to cut off his screaming._

Shawn jerked the knife away from his elbow, startled by the sudden flashback. A bit wildly, he pointed the tip of the knife to the scab under his chin, tracing that one, too.

_"You know, with one little slip of this knife, you could be dead." The man's voice whispered tauntingly in his ear as pressed the butcher's knife against his neck. The metal was cold._

_"Am I supposed to be scared?" the words came out as a whisper - he was too exhausted to manage much more than that._

_"Perhaps," the man conceded. "Of course, you always __**were **__the fool - never knew when to shut up."_

_"But I know something that you don't."_

_"And what's that?"_

_"You're not gonna kill me." He was confident with this fact, and some of that confidence leaked through to his words._

_The man tightened his grip on the knife. "Oh, I won't, will I?"_

_He smiled a little. "Nope," he said, wanting to shake his head but being unable because of the damn strap. "Why else would you bother getting electroshock set up? You're not gonna kill me - you're going to make me forget everything I know, because then my life will be hell that much longer."_

_The man relaxed his grip on the knife, pulling it away from his neck. "Good job," he said, stepping in front of the chair to look at him. "No - I won't kill you. But you know what's even better?" The man sounded like he was talking to a child, making him nervous as to what would make him so calm._

_"What?" he asked, though he was a bit fearful to even say that._

_"What's better," the man explained, "Is when I put you in so much pain after you've forgotten everything you know - you won't know why I'm hurting you or what you did wrong. It will be __**perfect**__."_

_He had closed his eyes with dread about halfway through the other man explaining this, so now he didn't see that the man had now stepped forward with the knife._

_His eyes flew open as the knife stabbed into the fleshy area under his jaw, blood flowing immediately. Pain. So __**much **__pain..._

Shawn gasped with the intensity of the last flashback, and he looked down at the expanse of cuts and scabs and bruises over his chest.

_Torture... _His thought was barely coherent as he felt tears begin to rise in his eyes. He was just so overwhelmed. He wanted something familiar. _He...he stabbed me. A __**lot**__._

Suddenly Shawn heard a step behind him, and without thinking, he whirled around, knife up and ready to stab.

The knife was stopped from going into Lassiter's chest when Lassiter grabbed his wrist, forcing it back up and away. There was a tense pause as Shawn looked up into Lassiter's stormy eyes, bright with an emotion Shawn didn't understand. Lassiter, on the other hand, watched as Shawn seemed to fight an internal battle before he looked up at him.

As soon as Shawn realized that it was Lassiter, he dropped the knife, making it clatter to the ground. Lassiter only stared at Shawn, still keeping hold of his wrist. In Lassiter's eyes, Shawn could now see the understanding and sadness burning just beneath the surface.

"Spencer?" Lassiter asked a bit tentatively, slowly releasing his grasp on Shawn's wrist. He just sounded so gentle and caring and...

Then Shawn finally let the tears fall and grabbed Lassiter into a hug, sobbing into his shirt. Lassiter kept his hands up for a moment, unsure what to do, and then, succumbing to instinct, he wrapped his arms around Shawn, keeping him in the hug. At this kind action, Shawn began to sob even harder, his tears pooling on Lassiter's shirt.

"It's just – so – _confusing_," Shawn sobbed between gasps. "I don't – he – "

"I know, Spencer," Lassiter soothed, rubbing circles on the smaller man's back. "You don't have to explain – I get it."

Shawn cried into Lassiter's chest for several more minutes, both of them not saying another word. Finally Shawn's cries died down as he became sleepy after finally releasing the emotions that he'd kept buried inside. Lassiter led Shawn down the hall to his room, not wanting to wake up Gus and Juliet. He sat up against the headboard, having Shawn rest his head on Lassiter's thigh as he continued to soothe the man as he wept and hiccupped.

Finally, through Lassiter's gentle strokes on his back, Shawn was able to sleep peacefully.

* * *

**Okay...at the end there, it did sound a little slash-y, but that's not really what I'm trying to project. Between Lassiter and Shawn, I want to build a father-son sort of relationship, and isn't what Lassiter did something you'd imagine a father doing when his son is sick, or something? That's what ****_I _****thought, anyway. So no, I don't have any intentions of making the two of them a couple, but I ****_do _****want their relationship to be better than it was before - a ****_lot _****better. So sorry, if I disappointed some of you out there wanting the romantic relationship, but I just don't roll that way - I'm team Shules!**

**So...if you're not too disappointed...review? ;)**


	6. Chapter 6

Shawn woke up slowly the next morning. He opened his eyes long after he had woken up, and was confused to see that he was alone in a queen-sized bed in a room with homey, brown colors. He looked down and saw that he was still in only his jeans, though the thick brown comforter covered him up to his waist. He glanced around, trying to re-orient himself as it took a minute for him to remember what had happened the night before.

He sat up, rubbing his eyes with a little sigh. Tiredly, he got out of bed and went to the connecting bathroom, staring at his torso in the mirror again before turning away with a grimace. He couldn't think about that – not right now. He needed…actually, he didn't know what he needed. His brain was so awhirl with confusion and questions that he could hardly think.

With another sigh to himself, Shawn walked out and went down the hall to the kitchen. Food. He wanted to eat – preferably something with pineapple in it.

When he walked into the kitchen, Gus and Juliet looked up from where they sat at the table.

"Hey, Spencer," Gus said a bit timidly.

"Mornin'," Lassiter said with a little roll of his eyes at Gus. "What do you want for breakfast? There's Apple Jacks – Guster brought them over for you while you were asleep."

Shawn glanced at the clock on the microwave and saw that it was almost eleven o' clock in the morning. Then, looking back at Lassiter, he said, "No…thank you." Both of them knew he was really thanking him for the night before, for comforting him and not letting him lose his head.

Juliet looked back and forth between Lassiter for a moment before she said, "Spencer, how about I make you a pineapple smoothie?"

Shawn graced her with a smile, a small one, but still there. "That'd be great," he answered. "Um…thanks."

"So," Gus said conversationally once they were all seated again at the dining room table. "We were talking while you were asleep, and we were thinking that if you got back to your regular schedule, you might remember stuff more easily."

Lassiter shook his head. "No – _you _were the one who thought it would be a good idea. No one else agreed to that."

Juliet shrugged. "I know where you're coming from, Carlton, but we really don't know. It depends on the person, what would be better for each one. It could be good, like Gus says, but it could also seriously backfire."

"He's _my _best friend," Gus argued. "I've known him longer than both of you combined, and I know how his brain works. I think it would be best for him to have a normal schedule again."

"I'm a cop," Lassiter countered. "I've seen more people with amnesia than _you _have, Guster, and _I _know that you shouldn't force memories to come back – there's a very definite reason why his brain blocked it out, and if his brain can't face them, if he suddenly gets them back it could hurt him."

"_Shawn's _brain can handle it – it's stronger than the average person's, and putting him back in familiar territory would be a _lot _better than pissing in the wind." Gus shot back.

"Guys! Please! Stop!" Shawn finally exclaimed, pressing the heels of his hands on his eyes. "I can't deal with this right now – just _shut up_!" He stood up suddenly, pushing his chair back and walking to the living room. There, he paced back and forth, hands still pressed against his eyes as though to alleviate a headache. He clasped his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling as he continued to pace.

After a minute of this, he stopped and went back to the table, dropping his arms.

"Okay," he said, his breath whooshing out of him in a large gust. "I'm going to go with Gus' idea, on one condition."

"What's that?" Juliet asked.

"I don't want to go back to work on just _any _police case," Shawn explained. "I can't remember my entire _life _because of the bastard that…that did _this_"—he gestured to his torso—"to me. Hell, I tried to kill Lassie last night because I'm so goddamn _overwhelmed_ with all of this, and I'm supposed to be _friends _with him. Well, friends are supposed to _trust_ each other, and that's a little hard to do on _both_ sides when one person doesn't know who the other _is_."

"What are you saying, Spencer?" Lassiter asked slowly.

"What am I _saying_?" Shawn repeated, and gave an incredulous laugh. "Someone _tortured_ me, Lassie – just so that I would forget about whatever the _hell _they were doing without the cops knowing. Now, I want to catch the son of a bitch that did this to me before he _really _tries to kill me. Who's with me?"

* * *

**Hm…little cliffie, little tease – I can't decide which one it is. Either way, aren't you glad Shawn is mostly back? I am. And not to worry – I hope to include another flashback in the next chapter…:)**

**Review? :)**


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